Flagged
by pinksnail
Summary: They are living in a world where anyone can become a country and with it comes not only the glory but also the responsibility those nations bare. The country lives forever in public interest until the day they are replaced, often by means not entirely ethical but completely legal. Murder. (A sort of AU-ish fic following the story of multiple nations and their lives in this world)
1. Liechtenstein & Switzerland

**Flagged**

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**Liechtenstein and Switzerland**

Out of the car and into the mansion she was guided. Her brother's firm grip on her shoulders is what steered her through the decorative corridors littered with bodies of the nameless. Past the pale, past the red... Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. The only thing keeping her from freezing up was the tight force against her shoulder blades keeping her in check with reality.

The door was ajar. The blood seeped out. She knew she was at their destination.

The soles of her shoes slapped against the thick liquid below as she was slowly lead over to the form of a young boy. He looked even younger than herself, though in reality she knew this child was more than 30 years old. The image was deceiving but it did its job. She felt something constrict painfully inside her.

"Come on now Erika," Her brother smiled gently, giving her a small nudge forwards. She could see the elation and fulfilment gleaming in his eyes. The sight had her entranced. She could not remember seeing anything more beautiful than this, her brother's expression which was usually so saddened and serious. "Take the flag. It's all for you."

He was happy. She should be too.

She reached down a delicate hand towards the flag adorned in red, blue and a golden crown. The flag was clenched like a lifeline in the boy's fist. She hesitated, her fingers drawing back.

"It won't hurt for too long. Believe me Erika; I've already done it." He pulled out a red flag emblazoned with a white cross from his jacket's pocket. He held it in front of her eyes as an act of reassurance.

The pain was not what she was worried about. This was wrong.

So very wrong.

She gave him one of her smiles, the ones he loved so much. "I know Vash. I trust you."

Without wavering this time, she extended out her hand and snagged the cloth in between her fingers, wrenching it from the boy's lifeless grip.

The moment she made contact with the flag her skin seared. The burning prickling sensation flooded into body, set fire to her skin, her insides. Images of centuries and centuries of splendour and hardship infested her mind like locust. She could not feel or see anything but the pain and the memories. It was agony.

She withed in the blood that was not her own, her body twitching and convulsing uncontrollably. Her back arched and her neck snapped backwards from the force. It was in that moment that the nightmare stopped.

Or maybe it had only just begun.

"Erika! Erika!" She heard a voice call.

She opened her eyes and saw her brother. He looked different than before. He seemed to glow now. There was some strange power manifesting inside him that she could feel spreading throughout the room. She could feel it from within herself too.

"Switzerland..." The world rolled off her tongue before she even knew what she was saying.

Her brother let out a relieved huff as he raised her from the ground. He was glad to see she was alright. "Hello Liechtenstein." He said, lips stretching into a rare smile. "Your voice sounds a bit different, the accent has changed slightly. It must be because you are the embodiment of Liechtenstein now. I guess you no longer count as a Swiss citizen now that you're your own country."

"I'm a nation..." She said rather breathlessly. She felt dazed.

"I know. We can never get old, remember things that happened hundreds of years ago and... We can't get ill... Erika! We can't get ill!" In his exhilaration he picked his sister up off the ground and spun her around. He set her back down, practically grinning. "You'll live! You won't die now; the asthma is gone!"

Liechtenstein nodded meekly, forcing a smile upon her face.

She could not deny the wonderful feeling of vigour and potential coursing through her veins. It was invigorating and fairly overwhelming. Just the thought of her life-threatening illness never being able to bother her again was enough to make her dizzy with happiness.

But then she looked down to the body by her feet, sprawled and mangled. He was killed by her own brother without a second thought. He had done it for her, to keep his sister alive and well. But what about them, the people who were now not alive and well because Vash had murdered them? There must have been more than over 20 dead here today.

How many died from the bomb her brother had set off? How many had he shot, stabbed?

The boy by her feet died from a bullet to the head.

The older woman across the room still had the knife buried within her stomach, her body curled around the weapon.

The public had adored these two nations. They had been kind, generous and charismatic. And they had just gone and straight-up killed them. All for two flags, for a brother who didn't want his sister to die from her severe asthma attacks.

They left together, holding hands. Back out the door, through the hallways. Past the pale, past the red. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. Out of the mansion and into the car. She slipped into the front seat, her brother closing her door behind her. He got in beside her, started the car and began to drive.

Liechtenstein stared down at the flag in her lap.

It was her lifeline. It was what gave her power yet it was also her vulnerability. It made her a target.

She could be sure that the day her flag would go would be the day she died because who on earth just stole the flag these days? Or even asked for it?

It would be her murder.

She rubbed the silky material in between her fingers, as her eyelids began to droop. For the rest of the car journey she slept dreaming not of her impending death, but of the death of the boy who had been Liechtenstein before her.

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**Oh what on earth did I just write? That was so dark!**

**But then I find I normally write this sort of stuff better, the extreme emotions and all that jazz.**

**So yeah... This story is going to be lots of little snippets from the lives of the Hetalia characters in the AU-ish sort of world. They are not going to be 2p but just people pushed over the edge most of the time.**

**I may revisit some of the characters if I feel like it would be interesting to expand upon their story more. I think next time I may be going for England or Russia. No promises though.**


	2. England & America

**England and America**

The newspaper rustled in England's hands as he turned the page. He sipped his tea leisurely before reading out aloud, "'In Colchester town centre, Friday the 5th of August, a bomb was set off by a NH (Nation Hunter) group who had allegedly received intelligence of England's whereabouts. 86 have been counted dead so far yet the body of the nation was not found in the wreckage. It is believed this tip off was false or England has managed to pull off yet another lucky escape...' The imbeciles. I'm nowhere near Colchester. At least try looking in the right county next time. Not bloody Essex; I'm in Devon!"

"Yeah. These nation hunters don't really know there stuff, do they?" America added, leaning over the coffee table between them to peer at the article.

"It would seem so." England said and then huffed tetchily, "You would think that the people who form NH groups would try harder. Sometimes I feel as if they put no effort in at all."

"Well at least we know this safe house is doing its job. It should stay good for a while now. While they're still reconvening you won't have to move again. Stay and take a load off!"

"That was my plan." England agreed before turning the page of the Daily Mail again. His eyes raked over the page, finding it hard to miss the giant Dalmatian, foaming at the mouth and teeth bared –covered in not only black but red damp spots. The picture alone covered over a quarter of the page. He sighed in exasperation at the huge piece on a popular form of entertainment: dog fights. It was a ludicrous pastime in his opinion. Not fun or exciting at all. It was rather dull really. Who would spend their money to bet on (let alone watch) two rabid dogs snap at each other's rears. He could walk outside right now and probably see just that.

He had nearly flipped to the next side. He had nearly dismissed the page entirely.

Further down the article on dog fights he caught sight of an something that made him choke on his tea.

He set down his china cup and grasped the newspaper in both hands. "...'After a long period of deliberation and persistence from their personification, the US government have announced that they will be introducing a law enforcement system to their country. Their wishes are to crack down on what they have labelled 'unnecessary and immoral killings'. The death penalty will be enforced on anyone who commits the crime of murder within their country's borders.'..."

A look of total incomprehension swept over England's face. After a few more minutes of incredulous gawking he managed to tear his gaze away from the article and instead let his stare fix upon America. America met his eyes tautly, quite aware of the lecture he was about to receive.

"A law enforcement system?!" England hissed in a brusque tone.

America's knee bobbed up and down nervously as he struggled to reply. He couldn't sit still. "That's kind'a why I came all the way out here. I wanted to see what you thought about it..."

"I would have thought my opinion would be apparent without even having to ask!" The Englishman all but yelled. "America, have you gone barmy?! Constabularies are simply not done! Nobody has one!"

"Netherlands does..."

"Oh, so just because Netherlands has one that makes it okay? Honestly America! If we all did what Netherlands did I would be having my tea with Marijuana cakes instead of scones."

"I'd rather take the drugged-up cakes over your crappy cooking." America grumbled, as he sunk lower into his chair, arms folded sulkily.

"I am trying to give you some advice here and you repay me by acting like a complete pillock!"

"It doesn't feel like advice to me! It's more like you're tryin' to castigate me!"

"I am not trying to bloody castigate you! I want you to understand that this new system of yours is going against every creed we nations must follow! It was written in the scriptures that as nations we must allow our citizens the freedom to take our flag and become the new embodiment by any means they deem necessary- that includes murder America!"

"Exactly!" America exclaimed in frustration. "It's the freedom to murder us! They can try and kill me; that's fine. But going around slaughtering innocents is not cool."

England stood and walked to the window. He leaned against its frame and let out a weary sigh. He looked drained, aged. He looked like a nation should. "Look, you are younger than most embodiments; you don't know how things work yet. Just give yourself a bit more time and then you'll understand how-"

"5 years is long enough to know how horrible it is seeing my citizens die at the hands of one another day after day. I've seen how all this bullshit works and I think it's sick!" America spat. His venom alarmed England. He had never seen him act this way before. "Murder shouldn't be legal."

"It's the way it always been." England attempted to reason with him softly.

"Well then, I think it's time for change." America pushed himself up from the worn armchair and made to leave. He stopped just before the door. He looked over his shoulder, staring England dead in the eye. "Call me when you think so too."

And then he left.

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**Next chapter! Hell yeah!**

**Look at my writing speed. I surprised myself.**

**So this chapter was a nice little look in to this universe I have created along with seeing two more characters. Next time I'd like to write about France but what I have in mind for him has the potential to go wayward so I might put him off for a little while. Maybe I'll try an Asian nation next. **


	3. Hungary

**Hungary**

With barley a sound her feet hit the stone floor. Elizabeta pressed herself against the wall she had jumped from, peering around the corner. There was just one guard. _Good._

She crept towards the man who blocked the path, carefully pulling out her blades. With the upmost precision and force the knives went plunging into the man's neck. She yanked at her weapons, drawing them from the flesh with little difficulty. She had done this more times than she could count.

She was a proficient killer but she didn't try to make every death flashy. She didn't try to avoid getting blood on her clothes. She didn't treat her knives like toys that she could perform fancy juggling tricks with.

That sort of stuff got you killed.

Make it brutal, make it quick. There was no need for flamboyance.

Elizabeta stepped over the nameless corpse to reach the wall and pierced her knives into the crevices between the masonry. She steadily climbed the castle's side, using her daggers as leverage to pull her up the sheer surface. It required a lot of strength in the arms which luckily she had, though she was still left panting when after she had finally managed heave herself over the side of a balcony.

She allowed herself a moments rest before rising to her feet and wiping the sweat from her clammy palms. She returned the blades to her hands, once again revisiting the uneasy sensation she got whenever she held them.

Her father had once told her that was ludicrous. Why should she feel nervous when the blade is not pointed at her? _You should feel safe Lizi; you are the one in control. _As much as she wanted to agree with him she could not. The knives made her apprehensive. But she wouldn't have it any other way. In her mind, to become too comfortable with something so lethal –even for someone in her profession- wasn't right. That feeling she got was the constant reminder of her humanity, be it torn and disfigured, it was still there. There was still some humanity left.

Elizabeta peered in through the window into the dimly lit room. In there she saw her target: the embodiment of Hungary. Unlike so many other nations who were generally known to be the old frozen in a body of youth, she was an ancient woman in both age and looks. She sat in a rocking chair by a fireplace, gently swinging back and forth as she stared into the dying embers of the fire. She looked absolutely harmless. _Well, apart from her eyes... _Even from this distance, Elizabeta could see that the lady's eyes were a startling shade of crimson. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was rather unsettling.

_Far too easy. I will feel almost excessively cruel for doing this._ Elizabeta almost sighed as she entered the room, bothering little with caution. There were no guards here (they were all at the castle entrance trying to disarm the bomb she had set up). It was only the nation here. And what could she do? Maybe if she was a nation with a young body she would pose a threat but she was just as frail as the day she became a country. How could she be dangerous?

Elizabeta slinked into the room, silent as the air itself. She would try to make this kill as painless as possible; it would seem utterly inhumane to be so brutal with someone so weak and defenceless.

She didn't even know her death was approaching. She would be completely oblivious to it.

Or so Elizabeta thought.

The aged woman began to speak to her without even turning around to know she was there.

"Ah, my child. Look over there." She pointed to above the fireplace. "See that frying pan hanging on the wall. It's very precious to me. A family heirloom one might say, handed from one Hungary to the next."

"I'm pointing knives at you!" Elizabeta exclaimed, feeling rather indignant at how blasé the woman was about the threat. She had been in these situations many a time and in none of them had she felt the slightest bit relaxed.

"Yes," The old lady laughed, now turning around to look at her. "I can see that."

She observed Elizabeta with an amused twinkle in her eye and after what seemed like forever under her scrutiny the woman said, "So someone has finally managed to breech my walls? I thought I would never see the day. You are here for my flag, are you not?"

"Yes, I am."

"And kill me for it?"

Elizabeta remained silent.

"It's alright. It's been a long time coming." The old woman reached out to the table beside her and caressed the hilt of a small pistol. Elizabeta immediately took up a defensive stance but the woman made no move to shoot, she just continued to stroke the weapon. "I'm glad the day is finally here."

Elizabeta eyed her distrustfully, grip tightening around her knives. "What are you trying to accomplish with this? Are you trying to trick me out of killing you?"

"No, quite the opposite really. But I would rather if you did not win my flag by spilling my blood." "Tell me, what is your name Child?"

This caught her off guard. Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment before she answered, "Elizabeta Héderváry."

"Miss Elizabeta, my dear, if I was to die now and you took my flag would you be sure that is what you would truly want? Is this the life you want?"

"You're going to kill yourself?"

"Young Miss, I asked you a question!"

"I..." She wasn't sure. Is this the life she really wanted? She had never really been the one who had wanted her to become a nation. It had been her parents. _Become a nation Lizzie. Continue what we started. Make us proud._

From the very beginning she had been raised to be a Nation Hunter and then to eventually assume the role of a country herself. It was a dangerous lifestyle but it was what she was used to. She was one of the best.

So should it really matter now if she went from one treacherous existence to another? Would it really make a difference? Arguably, yes.

But she didn't care. She had developed a penchant for danger.

"Yes." She replied with a new certainty.

"Good. I've been waiting for someone like you, someone strong enough for this life that won't die easily. This job needs more than just a flag to get you by; you need tenacity. There's stubbornness in your eyes child. You'll do well." The woman wrapped her gnarled fingers around the gun and raised its point to her head. "Goodbye, my successor, child of Hungary. Good Luck."

The shot rang out clear over the sounds of the far off screaming and the shouts of the guards.

Elizabeta was frozen to the spot as she stared at the woman who had once been the nation of Hungary. The wrinkled old body hung limply over the side of the rocking chair, still gently swaying.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

The young nation hunter laid a hand on the chair and stopped its continual rocking. She never once removed her gaze from the old woman. The sight of her vacant blood red eyes filled her with a strange emotion she could not quite identify.

She was dead. That should be a good thing. Elizabeta could now finally live out her parents' dream. She could become a nation.

_No! It... It's my dream!_

However the longer she looked into those eyes the more she felt like something was missing, like some power had been drained from the room. And now an increasing desire to reach out and rip the flag from the corpse's grasp was building.

It scared her.

She wasn't in control.

She fought against the feeling, quickly drawing back the hand that had been ready to take hold of the flag. She cradled it to her chest, abstractedly rubbing her prickling skin.

Why was she fighting against this?

Her father's voice sounded inside her head. _Isn't this what you want Lizi?_

"Of course..." She whispered.

_Then take it. _It was her mother.

"I want to! I do!" Elizabeta cried, her composure wavering. "I just feel like I don't have a choice..."

_Because of us?_ They said.

_Yes..._ "No. I mean I'm struggling to control myself. I want the flag so badly and that makes me feel... unsettled."

_It's natural to feel nervous Lizi. But you will love being a country. _Her father's voice was soothing, alike the way he used to comfort her when she was little. _You'll do great things. We know you'll make us very proud._

A grim look appeared on Elizabeta's face. "Okay... I'll do it." And so she let herself succumb to the monster within.

...

When the guards had finally broken through their leader's door they rushed in only to find her already dead and a new Hungary in her place, with a flag firmly in hand.

Her cynical green eyes turned on the soldiers. She saw them immediately fall to their knees, weapons dropped and bodies trembling. Their bow was one of absolute submission and worship.

It seemed whatever loyalty they had had for the former Hungary was now gone.

_So this is what it is to be a nation. _She thought. Her lips curled into a fiendish smirk, such a look she was not familiar with yet she found it fit her so well.

"You were right Mother, Father." The smirk turned into a grin. "I love it!"

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**That got weird...really fast. I'm not really sure if I like how I've done this. Ah, well. C'est la vie!**

**Ok, so not an Asian nation this time and I'm not even going to hazard a guess at what I'll end up writing next because it will probably end up wrong. I'll just go with the flow, play it by ear, roll with the punches... *jazz hands***

**See you next time I update in like a century or so!**


	4. France & Seychelles

**France and Seychelles**

They fell against the door of the hotel room France had checked into last minute, mouths heatedly pressed together in a battle of fervour. The French nation moaned pleasurably as he tangled his fingers into the woman's brown locks in order to deepen the kiss.

She pushed against him and separated from the passionate kiss, her mouth forming a small impish grin. "Monsieur, you are very good at this. Surely you must have experience, no?"

France replied with a smirk. "Not quite as much as I would like. I was hoping you would be able to help me with that."

She giggled and scampered to the bed. "Seeking expertise from a common waitress? You flatter me."

"Oh no, mon cher," His look was of a wolfish hunger as he approached his lover. "You flatter me by even letting me be in the presence of such a beautiful creature."

She blinked up at him through her dark lashes and whispered in her most provocative tone. "And for that comment I think you deserve a present." She tugged sharply on his tie, pulling him down. France caught himself before he could fall against her and hovered over her alluring form, letting his eyes rake over her, taking in her tousled hair with red ribbons askew, the rising hem of her dress and the mischievous glint in her eye.

He couldn't resist.

He swooped down and captured her lips with his own, all too happy to let her remove his already half-unbuttoned shirt. The familiar tingling sensation spread throughout his skin, originating from the trail she made when tracing her slender fingers along his bare back. The thrill, pleasure and ardour returned to him and filled his being, engulfing him like a ravenous predator. His lust was overwhelming.

France was far too besieged by his craving to even notice the way the woman began to smirk against his kiss and the lethal needle that she pulled from her clothing. She brushed back his flaxen hair, an action in the disguise of a amorous caress, and then raised the needle, ready to plunge it into the bare skin of his neck.

"Ah-" She gasped and dropped the needle as her wrist was grabbed in his firm grip.

He broke away from her and let out a disappointed sigh, "Not another trying to kill me? And I really had hoped you weren't a nation hunter."

The woman's eyes were wide and her lips were parted in shock. She stared up at the man who she had thought was far too sex-crazed to notice, to even consider she was a nation hunter. It was a grave miscalculation on her part.

...

"Could you send a car over? The usual hotel." France stood across the room from his would-be assassin, speaking amicably into a mobile as if she had not just attempted to do away with him. She had been propped up into a corner her hands and ankles bound together, preventing any form of effective escape. Her mouth was twisted into a distasteful frown, brown eyes narrowed into two dangerous slits.

He glanced over to her within a pause in his conversation. He saw her expression and chuckled. She hissed.

"Oui...Oui, It's another one. For my harem! "

"What!?"

France ignored her outburst and carried on with his exchange over the phone. "Ohonhon, oui! Elle est très belle et dangereux. But you know that's just how I like it. D'accord... A bientôt!" France hung up and turned to her, smirking, "From this moment onwards you shall be part of my harem. I think I'll have Jean-Paul teach you the ropes to start with until you find your feet; he's one of my most experienced paramours."

"Let me get this straight: You have a harem!? And you are getting one of your male prostitutes to show me how to please you with sex!?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"The rumours were true. You're licentious...carnal, lewd! Completely and utterly lecherous!"

"What else would you expect? I'm France."

She glowered at the nation in a hostile manner, wishing for nothing more than for him to spontaneously burst into flames under her heated glare. No such luck.

"Say...what's your name?" He asked her.

Huffing in frustration, she relied with a role of the eyes. "You didn't even ask me my name before deciding to 'get it on'. How can you possibly claim to be the nation of 'l'amour' when each of your actions seems entirely unsentimental and indifferent?"

After waiting a moment to see if she would receive an answer- and just as she expected he didn't give one- she continued on with a bitter tone. "I would be different. I actually care about what happens to the people of this country. I would be a good nation. Unfortunately I can't say the same for you."

France remained silent for a while, eyes averted to the window where he watched the sun slowly peak over the horizon. Without looking back to her he spoke, "You still haven't told me your name."

She sighed- almost resignedly. "Michelle. You'd do best to ask that earlier next time."

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**I have never ever written anything the slightest bit raunchy before. That was a first for me and I don't think I ever want to write anything more that this ever. And if I have to write about it at some point in the future I will not turn it into a lemon. Let's just stick to 'they made love' shall we? Yep, yep! Sounds good! **

**...I'm scared of smut. (Even though I read it on occasions... You there! Shhhh! Don't tell anyone.)**

**France and ****Seychelles guys! I'm actually kind of proud of this...in a way. In other ways not so much.**

******Later in the story I don't expect anything romantic to happen between them. This story is not for the romance! Besides, I can never really picture these two together as a couple. It always just feels more like a strange father/daughter relationship to me. Most fans will probably agree there though.**

******I was going to explain some stuff here but I'm to tired. It's nearly 1pm here. Night night! I'm going for some zzz's now**


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